Chapter 6 - The File on Subject Zero
The peace in our home lasted precisely six days.
On a cold Thursday morning while the children were downstairs in the living room building an elaborate Lego castle, my secure military phone rang on the study desk. The caller ID showed an encrypted line originating from the Pentagon.
I picked it up on the first ring. "Colonel Vale."
"Richard, it's Vance," General Thomas Vance’s voice came through the speaker, low, grim, and laced with immense tension. "I just left a closed-door briefing with the Undersecretary of Defense and the legal directors of Project Prometheus."
I stood up from my chair, my muscles instantly coiling into combat readiness. "Prometheus? What is it, General?"
"It’s a black-budget research initiative operated out of an unmarked facility near Fort Meade, Maryland," Vance explained, the sound of papers rustling over the line. "It was established nine years ago under a classified biotechnology research mandate. Noah isn't just a child with a mysterious gift, Richard. He’s the only surviving subject of a high-tier genetic synthesis experiment."
I gripped the edge of the mahogany desk until my knuckles turned white. "A synthesized human? He’s an eight-year-old boy!"
"He was engineered, Richard," Vance said, his voice heavy with sickened disgust. "His cellular structure was modified using extreme bio-energetic cellular acceleration protocols. The goal was to create battlefield medics who could instantly repair critical trauma in frontline soldiers without medical equipment. But the project was abandoned two years ago when every other subject died of catastrophic cellular collapse."
"Catastrophic collapse?" My stomach dropped into a dark, bottomless pit. "What does that mean?"
"It means his power comes with a metabolic price," Vance whispered. "Every time he accelerates someone else's cellular repair, he drains his own telomeres and red blood cells. He isn't just giving them energy, Richard; he’s giving them his own lifespan. The researchers calculated that every major healing event takes months—or years—off his life."
I felt the blood drain completely from my head.
The image of Noah kneeling on the marble floor at the gala rushed back into my mind—his pale skin, his graying lips, his sudden, terrifying collapse into my arms. He hadn't just used a gift to heal Leo and Lila; he had sacrificed years of his own short life to give my children their legs back.
"My God..." I choked out, sinking back into my chair, my hands shaking violently. "He gave them his own life."
"And that’s why Prometheus wants him back," Vance continued grimly. "They don't want to use him as a field medic anymore, Richard. They know his body is failing. They want to harvest his bone marrow and spinal fluid to synthesize a permanent serum before he dies."
"Over my dead body," I growled, my voice dropping into a lethal, terrifying tone.
"They're moving legally first, Richard," Vance warned. "Agent Vance—the suit from the hospital—filed a federal warrant this morning claiming Noah is classified military property, not a human citizen. They’ve scheduled a emergency closed-door hearing at the Federal District Court in Chicago tomorrow afternoon at two o'clock. If the judge signs that warrant, Federal Marshals will show up at your house with full authority to seize him."
"Who's the judge?" I demanded.
"Judge Marcus Thorne," Vance replied. "A tough, constitutional hardliner. But the Department of Defense is presenting classified intelligence files that show Noah poses a potential bio-hazardous threat to public safety."
"Send me everything you have on Project Prometheus, General," I commanded, standing up, my tactical mind instantly formulating an offensive strategy. "Every file, every illegal human testing record, every memo. If they want a war in a civilian courtroom, I'm going to give them one."
I hung up the phone, walked out of my study, and stood at the top of the stairs.
Down in the bright, sunlit living room, Noah was sitting on the rug beside Leo and Lila. He was laughing—a genuine, beautiful, childish laugh—as Leo placed a red Lego helmet on his head. For the first time in his life, he looked like a normal, happy eight-year-old boy.
Claire walked up behind me, resting her hand on my arm. She saw the deadly, intense look in my eyes. "Richard? What happened?"
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I turned to her, taking her hands in mine, looking at her with absolute, unwavering resolve.
"Get our legal team on the line, Claire," I said, my voice like cold iron. "Tomorrow afternoon, we go to court. And we destroy Project Prometheus forever."
